


A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love

by siguror



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bodily Fluids, Cisgender, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluid Sexuality, Gay Sex, Happy Sex, Het and Slash, Kissing, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Missionary Position, Multi, Non-Penetrative Sex, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Parody, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Smut, Transgender, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27383635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siguror/pseuds/siguror
Summary: The war is over, and a new dawn rises on the magical community of Great Britains as our favourites students head back to school, to take or retake their 7th years at Hogwarts. With the vigor of youth and powers of adulthood, the generation that fought so hard can now take a break, chill, and enjoy life.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Padma Patil/Pansy Parkinson
Kudos: 2





	1. Making a Sorcerer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to school after the war Draco tries to naviguates his ways among classmates he once conspired against.

In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts and the Fall of the Dark Lord during the Second Wizarding War, the Magical Society of Great Britain went to tremendous change in very little time. Traumatized as they were by this horrendous war, and the loss of a generation, wizards and witches developed a definitive aversion for blood purity and dark arts fascination that, for too long, had plagued their society; they finally understood that this path would only lead them to extinction. There was no tolerance for these supremacist ideas infamously associated with what was referred to as the worst Slytherins values. However, societies, even magical ones, may not have the power to become something else entirely out of their own volition, and, after the traumatic experience of the war, they took refuge in more traditional values, of secrecy, of esoteric conventions, whimsicals rituals that codified the common decency of the proper sorcerer. All of these traditions came from what were called the better Slytherins values, once purged of their darker proclivities. And thus, by a cunning twist of fate, the Slytherins inherited the task to reform the society they once fought so hard to destroy; and, even more paradoxical, none other than Draco Malfoy himself became the symbol of this new reformed Slytherin, the new Sorcerer.

If he had been asked a couple months ago, Draco wouldn’t have believed he would be the new media favourite. Because of his father’s involvement with the Death Eaters, the disgrace of his family name had been complete. Lucius Malfoy barely saved his head, only thanks to his wife’s, Narcissa Malfoy, final act of mercy towards Harry Potter and because the wizarding society had become tired of split blood. Nonetheless, his manor and the payments of war reparations had left him knutless. Narcissa had left him too with Draco, and, through savant Magical Law, she was able to save her flat in London that came from her own family. While her financial situation had deteriorated significantly, she had gathered enough to shield herself and Draco from need, until he graduated and settled at least. Indeed, Draco Malfoy, like many witches and wizards his years, despite being of age and adult, would attend their seventh year for a second time in Hogwarts School of Wizard and Wizardry.

No one would have pitied Draco Malfoy, really. His classmates thought of him as a bully, remembering him spouting blood supremacist slurs, and competing against them and the late Albus Dumbledore. Of course, he never joined the enemy per say, however that was not counted to his credit, but rather inspired contempt for this cowardice. Until the very end, Draco did not even know whether he would be allowed back at Hogwarts, which was not really a desire of his own, as he couldn’t see how he would survive a year among so many people who hated him, but merely to grant his mother's wish. All of that changed after the publication of a long interview he gave to the Daily Prophet.

He had opened his heart to the journalist, perhaps like a final confession and told it all. The abuse of his father, rewarding him for malice and inspiring him with the worst ideas. His childhood with other offspring of Death Eater, educated to act as the next generation of the servants of the Dark Lord; encouraged by Lucius to order them as he himself commanded the Death Eaters, and how it had prevented him to find true friends at Hogwarts. He spoke how jealous he had been of Harry Potter and how afraid he had been of Voldemort himself. And how he wished someone had stopped him, and showed him the way to be courageous and brave faced to the impossible perspective of becoming a murderer or being killed instead.

The journalist, who had planned a character assasination of the last Malfoy was touched unexpectedly by this pale boy before him, as he poured his heart and shared the chaos in him while keeping proper manner and dignity. “It is indeed a terrible fate to die at sixteen,” she wrote about the terrible choice Draco had to make to save his own life.

And just like that, the ultimate offspring of a degenerate family became a romantic soul, torn between light and darkness, desire and duty, fear and honor. Truth be told, most people had more in common with Draco Malfoy and his doubts and mousinness than with Harry Potter’s unyielding courage and pureness of heart. Because, in the end, Draco Malfoy, “this blooming young adult; polite with a frail elegance, always aware that he might cause discomfort, delicate in his movement, as if he was made of porcelain a faintest wind would shatter”, as the journalist wrote, didn’t join the dark side. Despite his upbringing, the bullying he received and inflicted, the fear, the terror, the cowardice, he didn’t say the killing word against his old Headmaster. Perhaps even it was not cowardice that prevented him from betraying Harry Potter when he had the opportunity, but rather the only way a tortured soul could find her way to goodness. A frail rose, born in manure, covered in thorns yet blooming in darkness and her sweet fragrance lingers on.

And just like that, the magical world remembered a kind of nobility ancient family once incarnated. Nobility does not permit, it obliges. It does not grant privileges but shares what nature provided. It does not hide from muggles out of fear, but out of respect. It does not shame muggles born for the vice they inherit from their own world, but offer wisdom with humility and love. It does not exclude with esoteric protocols, but shows formal politeness not to impose power over others, for sorcerers are powerful, and if they don’t pay attention, can impose their will to others without even realizing it.

That year at Hogwarts was the most polite school ever known. No duels after midnight, disruptions or insults in classes, or cursed pranks. Formal clothes were worn all day long, with the comeback of antiquated pieces of clothes and garments everyone had forgotten. The time spent for dress up in intricate laces went up, so did the polite greetings to the point it impacted the punctuality for classes. The teacher didn’t mind it though, as no classes had ever been so attentive. Only Peeves didn’t follow the fad, but soon, he seemed to give up, as his pranks were not received with anger or frustration from the victim. Only the most delicate magic was performed out of class, spells made without malice, but to inspire awe and elegance.

Benevolence had become the mantra of the school, and those who didn’t abide by it were quickly converted, not through force nor contrition, but by the unyielding power of comfort and safety provided once they let down their fear. As for Draco Malfoy, he could have basked in his new found glory and gathered a court around him. He didn’t, understanding that his popularity was hanging on a thread, and mostly stayed away from the crowd, cultivating his romantic image that suited his pale face so well. More pragmatically, he knew not to provoke the Gryffindors who wouldn’t allow any display of triumph. He only let himself meet people in the secluded gardens, giving advice about the new renaissance fashion, or being the confidant of others, arbiter of politeness, teacher of manners.

As for his former nemesis Harry Potter, he stayed out of all of that entirely, remembering the most important lessons he learned from the most unexpected teacher. “Fame is a fickle thing.” Harry knew too well how opinion could turn over overnight, especially against him.

At some point, however, some zealous Slytherins converted to the new fad went on a mission to enforce the strict rules of politeness at all cost, and publicly accused Harry Potter of affront when he responded to their formal salute ( wielding hand oh the heart, the other extended, right leg elegantly put behind, and a bow from the torso) with a “Sup guys.” Harry tried to cool them down. “Celebrity is, as celebrity does.” The joke didn’t land. They were twice affronted.

It caused a scandal among the Hogwarts students. All schools, including teachers, all wearing formal dresses with powdered wigs gathered around. Draco Malfoy was called to chastise the malotru. When he realised it was Harry Potter, he knew his days of grace were over, as he was in no position to confront him, but couldn’t also renounce his defence of good manners, the only reason why he was still alive at Hogwarts. To save face, as politely as he could, he offered Harry his service to teach him the good manners, invoking a very ancient tradition no one knew about but described in Manual of Manners for Meeting Most Distinguished Sorcerers. if Harry would care for it obviously; and Draco assured him, he would not impose anything on him, as I am your most devout servant yours truly, Draco Malfoy.

“You want to make me a proper sorcerer?” asked Harry as a taunt, “I’d like to see that!”

To Draco surprise, Harry extended a hand, and Draco shook him, binding the pact, that Harry would present himself in the most formal wizarding clothes, on the seventh of october at seven pm, and Draco would teach him good wizarding manners, as stated in the “Manual of Manners for Meeting Most Distinguished Sorcerers.”

All of that, Harry didn’t realize at first, for he had accepted Draco’s offer for the laugh of it. It was Hermione, who had checked out the only copy of the book immediately at the library who explained it to him. At first, Harry couldn’t be bothered to follow up on his word, however, when Hermione explained to him how complicated he would do to rescind Draco’s invitation, now that he was bound by his word, he decided the laziest way was still to do it.

He asked Hermione to help her with the clothes and to learn the minimum amount of etiquette. She seemed surprised at first, then said:

“Meet me on the seventh after lunch, I’ll help you prepare.

“What? I’ll need five hours to dress? You’re kidding me right?”

Hermione looked at him a bit puzzled and said, with malice:

“You really should think before you act, Harry.”

Indeed, Harry hadn’t thought about it when he called Draco’s bluff and now, unless he catched up, he would spend an evening being humiliated by Malfoy. Somehow, the taunts and reprimands from Aunt Petunia run in his head; therefore he started to pay more attention around him, how the other sorcerers dressed up, how they attached their long hair, wore faint blush and eyeliner to make their face more andregonyous. The plain black school robes had been replaced with more exuberants garments, while both witches and warlocks seemed to up the game: under their capes, they wore what Harry, from his blatant ignorance, would call medieval pants and corset-looking top, while the most daring added a special piece of cloth to emphasise their crotch.

“I’ll stick up with the robes,” he swore to himself.

During classes, Harry would sneak a look on Draco, as he wanted to figure out what he had planned for their confrontation but the pale boy was nowhere to be found. Twice, he managed to glimpse his porcelain face that contrasted with his thin red lips and wondered if he wore some kind of lipstick, and if he should do the same. Draco seemed annoyed by that as he vanished immediately after he noticed Harry had found him.

On the fateful day, Harry knocked and entered Hermione's apartment. The witch had indeed managed to get one next to the teachers for her last years, as she didn’t feel like sharing a dormitory anymore. Here, she had a bedroom, a private bathroom, a small lounge, a kitchen filled with muggle appliances and an office filled with books and parchment. An excessive amount of boxes were stacked on her bed, all clothes for Harry, as she explained.

“I’ve got all the usual stuff for you and a couple of options. It’s supposed to be on your size but I’ll fix it up myself if needed. Now strip down, I have to take the final measurements.

“Remove that too,” she added with malice, as Harry now stood in his muggle boxers. “You’ll never believe how complicated traditional wizards undergarments are.”

Harry obeyed. Hermione and him, being muggle raised, had shared the same discomfort when they had discovered the wizard had little concept of modesty. Now they had become comfortable with nudity, especially after sharing a tent for months, in a setting that wouldn’t allow much privacy.

She asked him to hold his flaccid penis as she cupped his balls to get the size and check the elasticity, then slid her wand across his butt crack for measurement. They shared a joke about her cold hand when she measured the penis, then asked Harry to get erect to assess the elongation.

She left him to concentrate for a moment as he saw nothing arousing in this situation. The whole thing was marvelous, he thought. All of that because of his own cheek and because of pretty Draco with his stupid face.

Yet, Harry managed a decent erection, for which he and Hermione shared a new joke. Then she finished the other measurement and started to dress him up.

First, she put him in a kind of garter belt black, without laces, around the waist, and she hooked it on two anchors around each thigh. It would hold everything else, she explained.

Hermione hadn’t lied, these traditional garments were incredibly silly. First was a pouch in black silk with a hole, she slid it on Harry’s penis and wrapped it around his testicules, and attached it to the garterbelt with rubans across each butt cheek. Then, she clothed the penis too with what Harry thought was a sock but turned out to be a very comfortable sheath of silk, attached to the rest with an elegant knot.

Hermione then selected some sort of outerpants, open on the crotch, that left the inner of his legs, thigh and all buttocks uncovered. He was a bit surprised at first but, after he put on the robes over it, found that it allowed his skin to breath easily, and the contact of the robes fabric on his naked ass was surprisingly agreable. That way, if he needed to access everything, in the bathroom for example, he would only have to raise his robe and remove the sheath. Perhaps he had discarded wizards fashion too fast. After adjusting the opening on the top of his robes with a mirror, he had to agree with Hermione: he did look good and proper.

He asked her about makeup, and to his relief, Hermione said that the current trend wouldn’t work on him anyway, and she’d do something light. She barely trimmed his eyebrows and put the faintest eyeliner he had to match his deep green eyes.

Then they settled on a pair of shoes that were both elegant and comfortable.

“I wonder if it was really worth it Hermione,” he said. “Draco won’t probably show up, it’s not as if we'll take that seriously. Not that I’d mind putting him in his place. Things were easier when we dueled at midnight.”

“Don’t worry Harry,” she replied with amusement, “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful date.”

The joke made Harry laugh goodheartedly.

Draco's reputation as master of fashion was not usurped. Like the article said, he did look like a small thing of porcelain that could shatter anytime, with his pearly face, grey eyes and thin red lips; and white blond hair, cut like Harry would describe a boyish hairstyle a girl would wear. He suspected he was cultivating this appearance of fragility as a ruse to inspire compassion.

He followed Malfoy towards Hogsmead, in a very fancy restaurant Harry didn’t know even existed. Is that what Draco had in mind? Indeed, according to the Guide for Good Manners or something — Harry wasn’t really paying attention to Hermione’s earlier explanation — dinner was supposed to be a moment to learn and demonstrate etiquette. A wizard that can demonstrate how to hold a fork can be trusted with a wand, Draco explained.

During the aperitif they exchanged pleasantry and light conversation. Despite the appearance, Harry knew Draco was being uncomfortable, as he expected Harry to stop the pretences and the formality and confront him and his past. But Harry wouldn’t do it. He wanted Draco to drop his act himself, and so far, there was no flaw in Harry's perfect manners. However, the first difficulty arose when Harry was presented with the menu. He didn’t recognize any of the dishes, that were all french, for some devilish reason. The only thing Harry knew about french is that Uncle Vernon hated them and Sirius loved their wine. His ignorance and the sudden remembrance of his late godfather push him to launch the first assault, before Draco could notice a flaw.

“I can’t choose between the oyster and the escargots,” he said. “Care to help me decide like a proper sorcerer would, as I know both dishes elicit both love and repulsion. An honest sorcerer is truthful with his desire yet does not impose it upon others.”

“Both delicacies are equal among the pleasures of the tongue,” replied Draco gracefully,” yet each requires different attention to enjoy it to the fullest. While I recognize the most refined taste of oyster, I find myself always partial to escargots; and tonight I shall indulge as well.

“Then since I am your disciple for all things proper tonight, I shall entrust my palate to your guidance,” said Harry, planning to copy Draco’s way to eat them, since he had no idea what to do with the dozen forks and spoons and other piece of cutlery he didn’t recognize around his plate.

When his dishes arrived, Harry regretted his choice, as the snails cooked in butter looked upsetting, yet, he would rather die of intoxication than admit it to Draco. Carefully, he copied the gesture, and put the fork in his mouth. Not bad, not bad at all, he thought. A bit spongy but very savory and warm. The more he masticated, the more he liked it, and he had to pace himself, not to finish them before Draco. Draco would have to speed up, as it would be rude to let Harry wait, but, it would also be rude for Harry to let Draco speed up instead of enjoying his own food.

They kept the pretense of having a good conversation between two sorcerers who appreciated each other's company. Harry had to admit Draco did his part well and started to enjoy the conversation. By pretending he didn’t resent Draco anymore, he allowed himself to laugh at his pleasantries, and even encouraged him forward to make snarky comments about his new followers who tried to get his favours at all cost, up to ridicule. Harry, who had become an expert for clever comebacks against Dudley, recognized Draco’s masterful craft with words. He took a moment to remember his best ones.

“Honestly, Goyle, If You Were Any Slower, You'd Be Going Backwards”

“Longbottom, if brains were gold, you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.”

Harry made the conscious effort to judge this one as hurtful, despite being perfectly crafted, out of loyalty for his Gryffindor mates. He also noticed that the current Draco would still make snarky comments, a bit cruel, but not really mean, as if he’d shown restraint, or maybe, had grown a little empathy. Draco even did a remarkable impression of his younger self.

“Harry, you’ve finished your wine already? My father will hear about it!”

Harry laughed without restraint but Draco’s pale face let transpired a worry for a second. Without thinking, his joke brought on the topic his father, a Death Eater who had repeatedly tried to kill his guest. Harry immediately saw the opportunity to put Draco in the corner, but decided to let it slide, just once, for the sake of the joke, and showing self derision.

After dinner, they were shown to a small room with a comfortable sofa and cushioned armchair around a coffee table, and a liquor cabinet full of the most refined spirits. Hermione had explained it to Harry, these rooms were called boudoirs. Proper and well-mannered wizards would lock themselves in here with the pretense of having a nightcap, and to avert the eyes from the deplorable spectacle of overdrinking. But everyone knew it was there, cloaked by the night, that secrets of potions and spells were exchanged between wizards, masters and apprentices. It was a moment for deeper conversation, for the most intimate secrets, that no one dared to interrupt, and the enchantment on the door ensured it.

Well rested and well fed, Harry got comfortable on the sofa while Draco sat on the other side. The evening was fun, and free, which is always nice. Yet maybe Draco had been waiting for him to let his guards down and reveal his humiliating ignorance of the proper wizarding manners. Pretty and courteous on the outside, yet always scheming, bloody Draco. So Harry went back on the assault.

“You can’t take one step without hearing about Benevolence these days,” he said with an affected bored voice. “It had become the cardinal value yet I haven’t seen any display on it since I arrived at Hogwarts, seven years ago. Do tell me, my dear Draco, what are people babbling about.”

He made a large gesture towards Draco, to give him the floor, but spilled some of the liquor of this glass, which was not as dignified as he had planned. The spell was casted nonetheless. The trapped set up. Draco wouldn’t dare lecturing Harry about being nice after bullying him and his friend so long. He would try excuses, Harry would push further and win.

“The ancient ways of wizardry teach us several definitions for benevolence,” explained Draco. “Some are more innocent, like the Storge, the love towards family and others, like Philautia, loving oneself, which can devolve into Mania, which is fueled by a desire of self preservation and fear of death…”

Draco was done for it. Speaking of family to an orphan, then a description that would fit Voldemort itself. But before Harry could deal the final blow, Draco continued.

“But the more interesting is probably the Agape, which you should know about, it’s about unconditional love, selflessness, doing what needs to be done, for the good of it, without interest. It is also said that this is magic itself. Yet it is not the only one for a sorcerer. Life is not about constant selfless sacrifice. Ludus is what we are playing when we play. A quick word. Banter, courtship, which is a game on it’s own, and can lead to Eros…”

“Still, I concede it’s very convincing and educated,” said Harry after dozing off, “Yet I fail to recall any instance of you expressing any kind of benevolence towards me.”

Draco got up and sat next to Harry on the sofa. He crossed his legs, brought them on the sofa, put one arm on the sofa’s back and faced Harry straight in the eye.

“I can demonstrate it now, If you’re up to it,” said Draco.

“Sure I’m curious-”

In the same movement, Draco put his hand on Harry’s cheek and put a kiss and his mouth, slipped his tongue in and out, sucked his upper lips and receded.

Harry, who had been faking having a good time all evening, realized he had not been faking it after all. He put his hand on Draco’s back and pressed him against his own face, so he could kiss him back. Draco’s lips were thin, delicate, his tongue tasty and lively, very different from Cho’s wet mouthful kissing and Ginny angry little kisses. Draco kissed like a girl in a very masculine way, Harry thought. One kiss led to one other, the tongues went in, the lips closed and open while Draco’s hand went in Harry’s hair and Harry held Draco’s head in his hand. By the time their mouths were apart, Harry was laying back on the sofa with Draco pressed over him, pushing one knee between his legs. The sock like undergarments Hermione had tailored for him was extending to accommodate it’s growing content. Harry had not planned this turning of event. He’d never would have thought he’d enjoyed it immensely.

Considering the hardness pressing against his thigh when Draco pushed his crotch on Harry, the pale boy enjoyed it too. Somehow, he had found a way around Harry’s robe, caressed its way along the thigh, grazed the balls, and was now stroking Harry’s cock. The gentle touch through the silk fabric was exhilarating, better than a simple handjob. It fueled Harry's desire, he repaid each pleasure brought by a stroke with his tongue, a kiss on the mouth, and the neck, and the ear. He grabbed Draco’s round ass and push it towards him, he fumbled through Draco’s robe, but failed to reach the hard member, so Draco removed his own robes, revealing a similar apparel, a white lace garter belt on his pearl whit waist, a white shaft with a ruban hand over a white nest of cotton.

Harry put his hand between Draco’s leg, behind his ass, and brought him back in front of his face so suddenly that Draco had let go of Harry’s cock and put both hand on the sofa, on all fours, not to fall. Without even thinking, Harry untied Draco’s cock knot, unsealth it and removed the other piece as well; he could now contemplate Draco’s hairless smooth balls and pink glans peeking at the top of his ivory rod. He let go of Draco’s ass, and dragged his index from the buttcrack, over this butthole, across the balls, along the shaft and wrapped his hand around it. It was smooth and a bit spongy the touch, and warm, and slightly throbbing, right in front of his face.

Fuck I’m trying it, thought Harry and he opened his mouth, closed the lips on the shaft, taking care to not close his teeth, and push his tongue and the tips of the penis. Draco sighed in relief. Harry put both hands on Draco’s waist to control the movement of his pelvis, rocking back and forth, the tip of the penis sliding on in and out. Harry had never realized how hungry for cock he had been. He now understood that girls wouldn’t blow guys off only to make them happy, but because they had a specific pleasure for themself, it was a delicacy to taste, to take a mouthful, to enjoy. In that way, it was not Harry that was treating Draco, it was Draco that was making an offering to Harry, that was Harry was ready to receive with his mouth.

But Draco wasn’t ready to deliver his pearly gratification so soon. He took Harry’s wrists and held them behind his head on the couch, then sat on Harry”s groin, and helped him wiggle out of his robes. Harry’s didn’t understand. He wanted Draco’s cock in his mouth right now. He broke free and reached for Draco’s ass, his chest, his nipples, but Draco held him back again. Instead, like a consolation prize, Draco was rubbing his bare ass against Harry’s rod. That could work too, though Harry, suddenly taken by the urge to enter Draco, to be inside, to feel his round ass against his thighs, to hold that fragile piece of porcelain close and tight and never let go.

Through the fabric, Harry cock was now grazy Draco’s asshole. The pale wizard seemed to have understood Harry’s intent and the way he arched his back, was ready to let him go on with it.

“Not yet,” he said. “I have to teach you first,” he whispered to the ear.

With his wand he covered one index with a gluey liquid, then put it at the entrance of Harry’s ass.

“I’ll make you a true sorcerer now.”

At first, Harry was clenching, but Draco whispered to him to relax. Draco pushed slowly. He could sense when Harry was about to wince, pulled his index out, conjured more lube, started again. He soon had two knuckles in, and started circling a wonderful place Harry didn’t know existed. He gasped. It was even better than the stroking before. Draco played with his finger here for a moment, and, feeling Harry’s pleasure growing, inserted another finger, continuing the circle motion. Soon, Harry was ready. He would have exploded if Draco hadn’t stopped right now.

Draco put Harry on the side and slid between him and the sofa’s back, toward his rear. With one hand he turned Harry’s head toward him, and the other, placed his cock between Harry’s butt cheeks. He pushed his pelvis and covered Harry’s moan with his mouth. He pushed his tongue inside Harry’s lips and entered him at the same time. Very slowly, stroking Harry’s hair, with one hand, while the other stroked Harry’s cock, stopping at the start of the chaft to hold it in place while he pushed behind, he progressed deeper, back and forth, with gentle thrusts.

He was now completely inside, his pelvis perfectly locked on Harry’s buttocks, his balls grazing Harry’s skin during the rocking movement. A stroke on the hairs, a stroke on the cock. A thrust and recoil. The pace went up, Harry matched the rhythm of his pelvis against Draco, while his cock was filling him. And finally, thanks to Draco’s lips on his lips, Draco’s hand on his throbbing dick, and Draco’s cock inside him, he shivered, convulsed, rocked, throbbed, exploded and ejaculated in the cloth still wrapped around his cock with a ruban knot. And, while the waves were still echoing around Harry’s body, as if he was waiting for it, Draco clenched his fist in Harry’s hair, buried his head against his lover’s neck and came as well, through long and deep thrust, with a hushed moan.

The ocean inside Draco’s body slowly settled, he rolled over to face Harry, and wrapped himself around him, legs locked together, kissing slowly, hands caressing his back and hair and chest; a relief after the wreckage that went through both their bodies.

“That’s what wizardry should be all about,” said Draco after he had found his voice back. “Labour, housing, food, money, inheritance, blood, none of this used to matter to the wizards. They were glad enough to be spared from the misfortune of existence, thanks to magic.”

He continued stroking Harry’s hair.

“They had all the time for love and desire. That’s also what benevolence used to mean. Everyone was fucking. This is my dream for the new wizarding world. It’s all on the “Manual of Manners for Meeting Most Distinguished Sorcerers.” It teaches a formal way to court other wizards. Also a sex guide. But of course you know all of that or you wouldn’t have agreed to meet me this evening. I was surprised you’d want to by the way. But it was a nice surprise.”

 _So Hermione knew this would happen, because she read the book_ , thought Harry. _God she’s gonna be so smug about it!_


	2. Haunting a turret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione leads an investigation after an unexplained incident in a turret

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry always has been hosting the most peculiar and unexpected creatures for a school. Ghost, ghouls, gnomes, poltergeist, shades and shadow, rats, toad, pixie elves and students. Legends, stories and rumors about these creatures went to the schools one year after the other, but in the year 1998-1999, a secret story about a very unusual ghost spread through the seventh years students.

This specific year was unusual in many aspects, first, half of the seventh year were repeating it now that the war was over. As a result, an unexpectedly high number of seventh year students were of age, and not willing to abide by the school’s stricts rules and curfew. They had also fought and resisted alongside the teachers, which added weight to their claim: to be treated as the adult they had become, and granted special privileges, such as exemption from curfew, permission to leave the school ground at any time, and also be provided with private accommodation in the Castle. The Headmistress couldn’t say no to them, especially because they were represented by Hermione Granger herself. And thus, an aisle of the Castle was reserved for them, and all seventh years of legal age from the four Houses moved it in September.

A small hall for the meals was even prepared, in the spirit of uniting all Houses together but it was not really used, seventh year kept the habit of going to the Great Hall. However, a dozens of salons were furnished, hosting gatherings of students, not sorted by Houses, but by common interest and affinity, for games, study or simple discussion, in public or more secluded places, for couples to meet or unravel.

But one cannot cause disturbance in an abandoned place of a haunted Castle without consequences. All that racket woke up some long forgotten force, or so the rumors say. A ghost bound by love or duty? A demon banished on this realm? Some shadow from beyond? Nobody knows, yet heed this warning: don’t wander too late at night and never fall asleep in that alcove, on the turret, after the witching hour, or your life force will be drained out of you!

“Hogwash! Poppycock and flapdoodle” you might say, “ghosts cannot interact with the living this way! Dementors have been hunted away! And no dark force can reside inside Hogwarts magical walls!

“These rumors are only made to keep the other students away from the Seventh years exclusive place, or at worst, the way Headmistress McGonagall tries to keep us in line, now that we don’t have to obey her curfew anymore. A tale to scare the children to bed, from the imagination of Beedle the Bard!”

Well, well, well, you might be right. Is it true that now known creatures match what the witnesses describe. Because, yes, there are witnesses, and after you’ve read their testimony, you too may revise your judgement.

The first occurrence was on a friday of October. The emancipated Gryffondors seventh years had, once again, hosted a party to celebrate the end of the war, or the start of term, or Quidditch, friendship, or maybe they celebrated celebration itself. The great Harry Potter himself wasn’t able to attend, however, the Legendary Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were there, which was as good, for they had many tales to tell, and knew how to party.

On one side of the reception room, a buffet was served, with the most distinguished wine with spices, hydromels, and liquors, as well as chicken wings, roasted pork, fat deer laced with bread, eggs with black truffle, spit roasted suckling pig, sow teats marinated in tuna brine, oyster and snails, pear patina and light sweets such as cream puff, bostock, rhum pudding, marzipan, kouign aman, chocolate fountain with baskets of fruits, strawberry, fresh raisins, mangoes, apples, figs.

All evening long, wizards and witches of this exclusive court would enter and leave through the heavy tapestry that covered the stairs or doors or unknown secret passages around the room. Wearing they most exuberant clothes, either with way too much or way too little fabric, they’d stop for a drink, took a bite in a juicy pomegranate, and tried to inspire admiration from their peers with a new spell, to conjure an illusion, or the best brewage, or offer rarest flower to the target of their attention. If they felt more humble, they would cheer or boo other people attempt to show off.

For instance, Ginny Weasly made an impression when she lit up her robes conjuring a dancing safe-fire on the sewing. The stunning image of this fire-goddess in her clefted dress that left her back naked down below the waist distracted everyone from the fact that by Hogwarts rules, she wasn’t allowed to be here, as it was only her first Seventh year. She took her leave from the crowd and newfound suitors and joined Hermione in the quieter side of the room, for a game of cards.

It was here that, under heavy smoke and low hangings light that discussions or serious games took place, in comfortable armchairs, around low tables. But it was also called the room of Courtship. Indeed with a well-worded flattery or an exuberant spell that gained you the favour of the one you pursued, you could invite them to join your pleasant company for a more private discussion, expose your charm and wits, and perhaps offer a kiss, receive a caress and if you have to leave discreetly, for one hour or for the night, no one would pretend to notice it.

At first, Neville Longbottom had done that masterfully because he left the room led by the hand by Hannah Abbot towards the small turret that flanked the external wall. However, very soon after, the witch reappeared alone to get back into the dance while Neville stayed there. People were too elegant to make any loud comments, only whispers and gossip. The night went by, and the party died out, and people went back to their quarters, alone or in pairs, or in triple. Ron, waiting for Hemione to cast a couple of cleaning spells, had a sympathetic thought for his comrade alone in his turret and decided he would come down when he felt like it; then the couple left the room.

They found Neville sound asleep on the round couch in the turret. He seemed confused and exhausted, not remembering to have fallen asleep, and he was extremely weak; they had to walk him to the infirmary, where it took him one day and a full night to recover. Madame Pomfrey was adamant that traces of curses or poisons were found. She blamed it on the mindless partying and cursed the Headmistress to have allowed such foolishness.

Hermione Granger took upon herself to clear up the case. She went to Hannah Abbot and asked her directly about her night. Blushing profusely, Hannah recounted her tale. Neville had joined her on a table of courtship, where, upon her request, under the table, with masterful fingering, he had brought her to climax, unbeknownst to the crowd, something she enjoyed immensely. To repay his kindness, and since they had been lovers for a while and she trusted him, and she offered him her ass, as she had been curious about anal for a while and so they left for the turret. However, since Neville was still recovering from one year of battle and trauma, he tired easily, and was not able to conjure the hardness sodomy requires. The was no harm done, of course, nor shame to have, and Anna assured her of her affection, and left him to rest, reserving him this pleasure for another time. Such expression of trust and benevolence between lovers commands admiration. Hannah was always good hearted with no trace of malice in her soul; she was basically as pure as an angel and Hermione saw no reason to doubt her, especially since Neville confirmed the story.

“What kind of ghost story is that?” I can hear you shout across the pages. “A wizard who went limp? It happens all the time! Just take a potion and go on with.”

Well, well, you might have been right if it was the end of the story, even though most sorcerers are reluctant to mix magic with plumbing. However, the incident repeated itself, on the same turret, and made other victims

Someone, probably a Slytherin, because no one trusted them really, despite Draco’s Malfoy claims to lead their reform, claimed Neville made it all up to protect his virility, which was an unfair accusation, as such archaic conceptions were unknown to him. Yet, to protect his honor, Dean Thomas swore to spend one night in that turret, and boasted to stop the darkness roaming there. He convinced Seamus to stand by the door on the other side of the stairs, in case a wizard was involved in this devilness. He even spent the day resting before, to ensure he would stay awake all night long, up to the morning. The next friday, he marched towards the turret with great fanfare and took guard. They found him sound asleep the next morning, afflicted by the same tiredness and he was sent to the infirmary as well. As for the guard, Seamus, he had left his post almost immediately, as he saw no point standing all night long, while a warm bed awaited him with a wet witch in it.

At this point, no one in Hogwarts hadn’t heard of haunted turrets. The first to sixth years were bursting with curiosity and bombarded the sevenths years with questions, since they were not able to enter this part of the Castle themself. The older students were annoyed by it, and even Hermione, the Headgirl, usually so helpful towards the youngers, only gave evasive answers, as she didn't want them to meddle with the fragile balance she had obtained from the administration, and allowed her and the others such leisure.

As Hermione quickly pointed out, Dean’s action had brought no additional information to her investigation of the mystery, since he too, couldn’t recall the time he fell asleep. So, when Justin Finch-Fletchley offered himself as bait the same day, Saturday night, she brewed him the strongest tea she could, and instructed him to mark each down each hour on a parchment. On Sunday morning, Justin had been left untouched.

Circling through volunteers, the seventh years reproduced the experiment every night, but the ghost seemed to have vanished. Perhaps it felt Hermione’s inquisition was closing down on him. But on Saturday morning, Justin had been claimed as a victim too.

Hermione hurried to the parchment, barely noticing Justin being sent to the infirmary. He had marked down all hours until one am, the witching hour. She decided to call for volunteers that would spend Friday night there, and after two month, here is what she learned.

The ghost would only strike on friday night, and every friday night, at one am precisely. He did not harm the witches, as Ginny discovered, almost disappointed, as she was sure she could vanquish it during the confrontation, only sorcerers, but not all of them, like Zabini. There were two possible outcomes of spending the night there.

First you would be bored, stay awake, or fall asleep naturally, and experience no memory loss or weakness. It did happen to all witches and one quarter of the sorcerers.

Or you would also experience memory loss, and heavy weakness, difficulty to walk, and overall loss in vigor for a day or two.

Hermione tried to match the outcomes against anything she could, House membership, grades, elective study, right or left handed, wand size, essence or content. She found no correlation except the gender of the volunteer, with the notable exception of Pansy Parkinson. But, like the others, she said she didn’t remember anything, therefore Hermione didn’t know what to do with this information. After a week spent rummaging her brain and grasping at straw, she even spent the night there and remained awake up until the morning.

The events took an unexpected turn after that. Since the ghost actions had no lasting effect on his victims, spending the night in the haunted turret became a new fad. The thrill was worth more than a day off to recover and being visited by the ghost was something you could boast about. But as it could only happen one night a week, there were soon too many candidates pressing themselves at the door every friday. That situation brought something Hermione had not imagined, sending several people at the same time, and the results were extraordinary.

When Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy went there, they both experienced the memory loss and weakness. But when Neville went back with Hannah, they were both spared. Ginny and Hermione were spared, however, more interesting, when Ernest Macmillan, who had always been spared alone, went with Justin, both were spared. It was as if all witches and a couple of sorcerers possessed an unknown defence mechanism against the ghost, that also covered a second person when they entered the turret together.

More intriguely, both Neville and Justin had been victims of the ghost at least one time, but when they went in there together, the ghost spared them. The ghost would only attack a small subset of pairs of people at the same time, even when the pairs were picked among people he would attack alone. But there was one invariant fact: each time a pair spent the night, either both of them were affected or none of them.

The last thing Hermione discovered was, that if three people or more went there, nothing would happen, no matter what combination she tried.

At this point of the story, it should be mentioned that all these information were gathered and compact long after the phenomen, through unreliable sources, sometimes contradicting each other, and in that case, the less consistent version was discarded. It is possible that many elements were misrepresented by a conspiracy of the seventh years in order to protect their recent privileges, and other elements were purposefully hidden. The truth of it might never be revealed, unless we were able to go into the mind of one of the victims of the haunted towers, which, unfortunately, is impossible, without magic at least.

Pansy Parkinson was a slender girl with mid long black hair and a perky face. That friday night, she wore a dark lipstick, black stockings with suspenders, as the fashion dictated and, more originally, a black swing dress cut just above the knee and long black opera gloves. Around midnight, she snuck out of her apartment, and by the light and her wand, tiptoed along the corridor, slid a finger behind the golden frame of a large painting of a vicar, and, very slowly, careful to to wake him up, opened it like a door and vanished inside a hole behind. She climbed a flight of stairs to emerge at the back of the courtship room, checked with her wands that she was alone, and trotted along the wall. There, she climbed the stairs to the turret, and entered the circular room. It was very small with a round sofa all around inside the round walls, covered with cushion and folded pleds on the floor, barely lit by the moonlight across a small window. She closed the door, lit a small oil lamp hanging from the ceiling, sat on the couch, legs crossed and murmured nox. Her watch pointed half past midnight.

She waited there, in the dim lit room, her heart still beating from the run and from the thrill about what was to come. As a good Slytherin, she had never put herself in any kind of danger, and for the first time, she would expose herself like never before. Around the red room, shades of orange cast by the feeble lamp danced across the cushions.

Five minute before one, she jumped because a roll of parchment appeared out of thin air. She caught it, heart pounding and read.

“In five minutes of time, an offer will be made to you. We’ll knock three times on the doors. Should you desire to decline the offer, do not open the door before the first minute of the witching hour is over, then be on your way, and speak no word of this.

“But should you open the door before the first minute of the witching hour is over, we’ll accept your invitation, and you’ll be bound to secrecy of what is to come next. We are two witches, with a wager to settle.

“The first one will sit on your right; she thinks that there is no greatest pleasure, than taking what is offered.

“The other will sit on your left, and she thinks the true completion of desire is to give, not receive.

“You will offer your hand to one of them, and while the other leaves, she will prodigue her art, in the way her heart feels most.

“But our art is not for all, only those who truly desire it, and can demonstrate the hard expression of your desire you shall present in his glory, when we’ll knock three times, on an open door, before we enter.”

Hands slightly trembling, Parvati read the letter over and over, to ensure she understood it completely, as if on the next read, she would realize it had been a complete misunderstanding.

**Knock! Knock!** **Knock!**

Slightly light-headed, with her mouth very dry, she got up, opened the door to the half and sat on the other side. She couldn’t see any one in the darkness, on the other side. For thirty anxiously long seconds nothing happens, until she remembers the instructions. She lifted her back, put both hands under her skirt, slid down her cute black panties down her knee, sat back on the edge of the couch and, conscious that her face was red hot, lifted the front of her skirt and spread her legs a little more, exposing herself completely. Flanked by two slender thighs, a cute little pink penis rested on top of two smooth balls, round and well defined.

This display had convinced the two witches in the dark that Pancy did possess the expected shaft. One then the other entered the room; both wearing identical outfits, red robes with golden brodures and a hood that covered their face entirely. As promised, they sat on each side of Pansy, then, at the same time, put one hand on each thigh.

Pansy was startled by the simultaneous contact of her skin, and, as a reflex, because she was right handed, took the hand of the witch on her right.

Immediately, the other left. Once the door had closed, Pancy felt an immense pressure leave her shoulder. She looked up to discover the witch's face.

She had removed her hood and cloak. She had long black hair, fuzzy eyebrows, a brown skin and her red dark lips opened in a wonderful smile. It was Padma Patil, a Ravenclaw. She wore a long silky dress, but she could as well have been naked, as the fabric was so thin it was almost transparent. A rich flagrance had filled the air. Pansy was speechless, struck by this beauty. She couldn’t stop gazing.

Padma was playing with Pancy’s hand, tracing her index in her palm, scratching it ever so slightly with her fingernails, locking and unlocking the fingers, sliding in her the space between each finger, as it rubbed the skin. Then, still locking eye with Pancy, her smile widened, and she put the other hand on Pancy’s knee over the stocking, and went up, grazing the skin, the inner thigh. She brushed Pancy’s balls with her finger tips over and over, opening and closing her finger as she touched them, like a cottonned clamp. It made Pancy hard. Parvati slid two fingers across her shaft from below, and circled the tip with her thumb to make it even harder. It was wet. Then she put a deep kiss on Pancy’s lips, and whispered to her ear.

“I’m all yours, feed me to your heart content.”

These words sent a shiver across Pancy’s body, that took her out of her torpor. She was suddenly very aware of her own desire. Parvati had lifted her black skirt so that she could put her head on Pancy’s stomach, ear stuck to her skin. She was laying across the couch, resting on Pancy, her mouth facing the throbbing cock. Pancy could feel Parvati breath on it. She remembered the term of the contract, and that it was her turn to act.

Caressing Padma’s hair with one hand, she touched her lips with the other, and, with the index and major, spread them apart. With a tile of her pelvis, she guided her cock in Padma's mouth, turing’s her head to adjust the angle. The tip of her penis was welcomed by a quick tongue. Pansy pulled out to unsheath the foreskin and pushed further. It was wet and warm, welcoming. Padma tongue was sliding around her penis, but apart from that, she was barely moving, only adjusting the pressure of her lips to Pansy slow thrusts. She was truly letting herself be penetrated by the mouth.

The pace accelerated and Pancy’s movements became more fuzzy. She bounced in the inner of Padme’s cheek and her palate, unable to hold her head properly. Padme realigned herself to be able to swallow the cock completely.

This movement revealed an erect brown nipple to Pancy’s eye. She grabbed Padma’s breast and squeezed it between the sides of two fingers. She felt immediately her mouth react with pleasure around her cock. She was now pushing her penis in and out Padma’s mouth rapidly, up to the throat, without roughness, but consistency, as she had now found the proper way to hold Padma’s head. Guessing the wetness that darkened Padma’s robe around her curly shag, she felt the urge to slide a finger in her, but it was too far away to reach, and she wasn’t sure it was included in the deal she had entered. No matter, seconds after Pansy had decided against it, Padma took the matter into her own hands, and started rubbing herself, rocking her pubis on the rhythm of the cock that was shoved in and out her mouth.

Pancy’s legs started to shake uncontrollably, she bended herself around Padma’s head and ejaculated in her mouth. Each emission lasted seconds, around her throbbing cock, the sperm melted filling around and she could feel Padma’s swallowing her sow. She fell back on the couch, exhausted, unable to even lift an arm while Padma climaxed with her own fingers, triggered by a mouth full of cum.

  
She finally let got of Pancy’s dick and looked up to her. It was the most erotic view Pansy had ever seen. Padma’s hair was messy, her pupils dilated under fuzzy eyebrows, and her mouth slightly opened, dripping semen and saliva. Then Padma did something unexpected, she brought her fingers dripping with juice in front of Pancy for her to taste. Pancy did it and sucked the fingers with thirst then grabbed Padma’s head to kiss her profusely, their tongue mixed together the juice of their pleasure; they tasted it like the most delicious elixir.

Then they cleaned themself and helped each other get dressed.

“I think I’ll spend the night here,” said Pansy, too exhausted to move, and fell immediately asleep.

Padme put a plaid over her, a kiss on her forehead, put back her hood and vanished behind the door.

Pansy would need two day to recover.


	3. The Rise of the Weasleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something forgotten comes back, causing turmoil among the older students

When Ginny was bored, the Castle would take a breath of relief, as the storm would stop raging for a moment.  
When Ginny was bored, the Castle would cower in fear, waiting anxiously for the volcano to wake up at any moment.

Peace didn’t suit Ginny well; after years of battle, hardship, resistance and thrill, she couldn’t handle the mundanity of everyday’s life. To fight the weariness, she dedicated every minute of her life searching for the excitement and danger she had grown accustomed to. Crashing parties, betting at cards, sneaking up booze, competing in illegal broom races in Hogwarts corridors at night, diving in the Forbidden forest, you just had to name it; if it was dangerous, illegal and fun Ginny was involved. But right now weary and apathetic, crashing Luna’s Lovegood bed, in the Ravenclaw tower, as she was the only person able to support her in this state.

“Why don’t you train for Quidditch?” said Luna, unfazed by the slow wailing of her friend.

“No one cares about Quidditch anymore… They say it’s too barbaric. All the team have converted to flying ballet; and even Harry and Ron have left the team...”

“Is that so? They used to love Quidditch so much… I wonder if they’ll give up on the Three Wizard Tournaments too..”

“The what now?”

“The Triwizard Tournament, I’ve heard the Headmistress talk about it with Professor Flitwick. The last one was four years ago, am I right?” She counted on her knuckles. “They’ll be sending a dozen candidates to France, in Beauxbaton. They will probably announce that pretty soon.”

Ginny excitement rose then visibly failed. She sighed loudly.

“What now?” said Luna, “I figured you’d want to try. I know I would, I’ve always wanted to visit France and look for the Gevaudan and they also have the only colony of camecruse in europe.”

“The Eight years will probably hog all the places. I’m not sure about Harry but Hermione would be a real challenge. Basically every single one of them has time to practice real magic while we have to stick up with useless classes.”

“I don’t think so,” said Luna. “The headmistress is very fair, I’m sure she’ll give everyone a chance, including you.”

It did not convince Ginny, she sank even deeper in lamentation and complaint. Finally tired of the constant whimpering , Luna closed her book and sat next to Ginny to shake her by the shoulder.

“Come on! Triwizard! Cheer up! Here let me give you a tickle.” And she slid a hand in Ginny’s brief, reaching for her bush, gently scratching her pubic hair.

“Mhh, I don’t know,” said Ginny, “just let me die of boredom.”

“Are you sure? You always feel better after!”

“Alright, but bite me on the ear too, pretty pleeease?”

Luna huddled herself against Ginny, and started to gently rub her pussy, tracing the lips, pressing the palm of her hand against the hood of the clit, but careful not to touch it directly. Then, she gave a couple of pecks on Ginny neckside, and switched between nibbling the ear lobe and sticking her tongue in Ginny’s ear.

It did not take three minutes for Ginny to come, and she proved Luna right, the quick orgasm did lift up her spirit.

“You know what? You are right Luna, McGonagall is not going to screw us over the Triwizard Tournament. I’m going to give her my candidacy right now!”

And she stormed out of the Ravenclaw tower, while Luna picked up her book where she had left.

As november passed the weather was now very cold and Hogwarts grounds were covered with a layer of immaculate white snow, except for a few dots left by students, hurrying in the warm botanical Greenhouse. Everyone would rather stay inside the classrooms. Almost everyone. At this point, the Eight years had basically given up attendance. They studied together subjects of their choosing, eventually asking for a Professor's opinion, and hung out around the castle, between mates, or couples, walking in the snow, arm in arm, or hand around the waist under thick cloak, such as Hannah and Neville. The couple passed the foggy glasses of the Greenhouse number seven where Professor Sprout waved at them, as if she was blessing the union of her two favourite students. They waved back with their free hand, without releasing the hold of each other and pursuing their path around the garden. They reached a small garden shelter full of old tools overlooking both the Greenhouses and the grounds. It was dark and narrow, barely large enough for two people to stand in, with small openings on the planks, giving a direct view of the castle.

Once Neville had closed the door behind, Hannah’s knees gave up and she fell on him. He wrapped her in a hug to hold her still.

“I thought I’d give up when Professor Sprout saw us,” she said, out of breath. “You’re too good”

“And you’re so bad, squirting like that in public,” replied Neville.

“I know, I’m helpless- oh no don’t stop,” she moaned.

And thus Neville continued, as he had not been holding her by the waist but by the ass; with the thumb stuck in it, and the middle and ring finger in her twat, making a clamp with his hand, and fingering her, as they walked around.

“Wanna look at them while you cum?” whispered Neville. Hannah nodded. He walked her to the small windows so she could spy around, hands held against the wall. Professor Sprout was teaching. Further away Hagrid dragged a massive pine towards the Castle. A couple of older students hang out in front of the Great Hall. And straight ahead, displayed on the wall, dozens of windows, dozens of slices of life unraveling, while Neville fingered her. The minuscule Professor Flitwick made a feather fly. The new DADA teacher held a weird looking bubble by the tip of her wand and Neville removed his middle finger to circle her clit directly. On the top of a tower, she glimpsed a naked ass across the windows but maybe she imagined it. She grabbed Neville's crotch. As she expected, he was hard.

“Put it in now,” she said.

“What? Right now?”

“Yes, hurry. In the ass. Put it in my little ass, I wanna try now.”

He had his pants down and robes up in no time at all. He moved behind Hannah, placed his arms around her, against the wall, hands over her fingers, put his lubricated dick between her chubby ass cheeks and prepared to enter.

Hannah arched her back, she was trembling with expectation. As soon as she felt the tip of the penis pushing inside, Neville let out a loud cry of pain.

She turned around. “What is it honey, are you ok?” Neville was clenching his hand on his legs.

“Aww, in my pocket, it burns.”

He pulled out of Hannah and pulled an old coin from his pocket. It was Dumbledore’s Army enchanted Galleon. An urgent meeting was called right now.

Hannah sighed, wiped herself with a spell and put back her briefs. Anal would have to wait, once again. And there would be no orgasms either, as duty always came first.

“I hope you have a good reason to call us now because I was about to do something very important,” is the first thing Hannah said to Hermione in front of the Room of Requirements. An understandable mistake, as Hermione was usually the one to organize everything, and thus she had naturally gone to her. But for once, Hermione didn’t understand the situation either, and waited in the corridor with Harry and Ron; they all looked slightly worried. There was a lot of confusion all around, and because the Room of Requirements didn’t open, Ernie McMillan showed up, calling everyone to follow him to the Web of Clubs, on the other side of the Castle, yet he was not able to provide anyone with additional informations.

They arrived in the meeting point, where Justin was standing on a table, calling for attention. Once the noise settled he addressed them.

« Witches and Wizards, my fellow students we are gathered here to organize and fight for justice, as in this school a villainous crime is being committed against the good people of Hogwarts! »

“What is he talking about?” asked Hannah.

“No idea,” replied Hermione.

« As you know, the Triwizard Tournament will be held at Beauxbaton this year and the school will select … »

“Oh yeah, the Triwizard, I forgot about that. Didn’t you say you wanted to try this time, Ron?” said Harry.

« … and we have more than others proven our valor ... »

“Nah mate, I’m over it. It was too much of a hassle.”

«… the vicious Headmistress still trying to get back on the right we have won through hard struggle … »

“I’m proud of you, Ron,” said Hermione.

« .. and cowardly act of retribution which shall not stand, I repeat this aggression shall not stand … »

“I just slipped from class,” said Ginny, squeezing herself between Ron, Hannah, Neville, Harry and Hermione. “Did someone call the D.A? What’s happening?”

« … and we will march until our demands are met … »

“Justin called the meeting,” said Harry. “He’s talking about the Triwizard tournament.”

“Oh, I haven’t told anyone yet, but Professor McGonagall just told me I have been selected in Hogwarts delegation to Beauxbaton.”

« … through willful omission of the procedures, an act of discrimination has been commited ... »

“Congratulations Ginny! It’s a great opportunity and you really deserve it.”

“Thanks, Hermione. Luna was chosen as well. We’ll be leaving in december. I have to write to Mum or Dad. And Charlie and Fleur too, I think her sister is still in Beauxbaton. Wonder if she’ll put her name in as well.”

« … until all of us Eight years receive an equal opportunity to put forth our candidature! »

Half the attendance cheered and applauded, as Justin whipped up the crowd.

“OY! JUSTIN!”, shouted Ginny loudly. “It’s been announced like one month ago. There was no foul play if you missed the deadline.”

“Ay! Ay!” said the crowd, the half that didn’t cheer for Justin.

“And where and when was this information given?” asked Justin dramatically. “Because I sure was not aware of it, and I find it highly suspicious that—”

“It was like EVERYWHERE,” shouted Ginny back.” In the Great Hall, on the announcement board, on the Common Room of every houses, and almost all teachers gave us a reminder in class each week. It’s not our fault you don’t come to school anymore!”

“Aye! She speaks the truth! Let her speak!”

Justin dusted the objections away. “Everyone knows we don’t show up, it doesn’t mean we should not be informed. Not a single letter was sent to our part of the Castle. We DEMAND that the selection process starts over, and for the school to select new candidates.”

“Yay!”

“Nay!”

“Cheat!”

“Let him speak!”

“Who put you in charge?!”

“ _Hum! Hum!_ ”

The room fell silent. It was Hermione's secret weapon, she got it from Ginny. She got up on a chair and said, calmly.

“Justin, I understand that you feel cheated out of an incredible opportunity. However, as it is, it is a private matter, and while you can argue your case to the Headmistress, I see no reason to involve the Eight years Student Association Club.”

“Aye!”

“She’s right!”

“Hermione’s the best!”

“Furthemore, as the President of this association, It is my duty to protect the interests of its members, you and to advise everyone of you against involving our name in this matter, as it would weaken our position against the Administration should we attempt to disrupt the Triwizard organisation. And by the way, let me use that opportunity to congratulate our very own Ginny Weasley, who had been selected among the happy Thirteen! And who will represent Hogwarts this year at Beauxbatons!”

There was a rumble of applause.

“Congrats Ginny!”

“Take them down!”

“You’re the best!”

“Marry me Ginny!”

“HOLD ON,” shouted Justin. “Hermione, I’m really disappointed you should choose your friend and your Gryffindor House over your duty. I call for the people who agree with me to join me.”

“I’m with you!’

“Me too!”

“I’m not!”

“Let him speak!”

And, in a second, the room had split in two crowds of students facing and gauging each other menacingly. All had to choose a side. Half of them, including Ron, Hannah, Lavender, Padma and obviously Ginny had sided with Hermione. On the other side with Justin were Ernie, Pansy Parkinson, Parvati Patil, Blaise Zabini, Seamus and …

“Neville?! You traitor,” shouted Ron, “come back here and support my sister!”

“Sorry mate, but I think my Gran would kill me if she learned I missed that opportunity.”

But in the middle of that, one sorcerer had not picked a side. It was Harry Potter.

“Harry!?” shouted Ginny. “Don’t tell me you want to try the tournament again?”

“Come on our side Harry,” said Justin. “The Headmistress will have to listen to you!”

Harry sighed. “Look Justin, it sucked that you missed the deadline, and Ginny I’m happy for you but I really really don’t want to get involved. Can you let me sit that one out?”

“You made your choice by being a bystander,” retorted Ginny. If her eyes could throw knives, Harry could have become a cutler.

“Yeah, take a stance!”

“Centrist!”

“Wanker!”

“Let him speak!”

And once again, the opinion had turned against him, although this time the hostility only came from a small fraction of the student body. Still, Harry was used to it, and his invisibility cloak went back in service. When he went to his personal room that evening, Ginny was there. She had been spending the night with him for the past month. Harry removed his cloak and entered. His stomach dropped. Ginny was packing.

“I can come back later if you’re still mad at me,” he said.

“Well I’m mad at you but you can still come in, It’s your place anyway,” said Ginny.

“Are you packing?” asked Harry.

“Yes, the Headmistress told us we’d be leaving next week. I figured I should gather my stuff.”

“I thought you didn’t want to stay here anymore,” said Harry.

“Oh Harry, you’re being so dramatic, it’s not because I’m angry that I don’t love you anymore.”

And to demonstrate her feelings, she wrapped himself around him to give him a ferocious kiss that took his breath away.

“Wow, I should make you mad at me more often,” said Harry.

“Don’t be silly, Harry, I’m not mad at you personally, but for your political stance. It’s very different.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Not at all, or I would not ask you to shag me.” And, lifting both straps of her robes at the same time, she let it fall, exposing to Harry her cheeky nudity. “That is if you can catch me.”

Suddenly possessed by a growing urge, Harry ran after her, swooped her, and carried her into his chamber then tossed her on the bed.

“Oh? Is it how it’s going to be tonight?” said Ginny with a brazen smile. “Bring it on, I’m diggin that.”

They struggled playfully for a moment until Harry, now completely naked, pinned her on the bed in a prone position, put his shoulders around hers, trapped her arms with his hands, closed on her chest. “I haven’t congratulated you properly for your qualification,” he said. “Time for you to get your reward.”

He spread her legs with his knees, and, with a single thrust, penetrated Ginny completely; it took her breath away. From there, he could fuck her deeply while kissing her neck or biting her ears; they had the best night; it was a shag to remember. They boned each other until they were too exhausted to move.

“I’m gonna miss you while you’re away,” said Harry. With his finger, he was drawing constellations between freckles on Ginny’s chest.

“Well you have fun until I come back, but you won’t forget about me, won’t you.”

“Not a chance,” said Harry. “Not a chance.”

In the end, the Justin-led Eight years had to submit to the Headmistress' decision, and to show they were good sport, they even threw a party to bid farewell to the selected candidates, the Happy Thirteen, on the last weekend before they left. Of course, one could argue it was a petty move, because none of the candidates were allowed to attend that party since it was on Eight-years ground. It didn’t prevent Luna and Ginny from joining Harry, Hermione and Ron on a table in the Room of Courtship anyway. No one would dare to look for trouble with Ginny, as for Luna, since she was sitting with Hermione, it meant it was out of their hand. Luna seems a bit out of place here, as usual, even though the extravagance of her dragonfly robe was still inside the norm here.

“You must be so excited Luna,” said Hermione. “How are you dealing with the stress? I remember how terrible it was for Harry.”

“Oh right I remember, Harry constantly you looked like you were about to puke. But I’m fine, I’m not a Champion yet. I’ve been having a lot of attention from others, especially boys, now that I’m famous.”

“Ohhh,” said Hermione, “anyone you fancy?”

“Not really, but I haven’t really been paying attention to them”

“Why don’t you pick one that’s not too shabby?” interjected Ginny. “He’ll be so glad to spend the night with you that he'll give his best. Does wonder to relieve stress. You should try it.”

“You think so? I suppose the situation is stressing me a bit.” said Luna. “Ron, do you want to go have sex with me upstairs? I’ve always wanted to try it with you.”

Ron choked on his buttlebeer.

“Well… Look Luna I’m flattered but you see — he took Hermione by the hand and showed it to Luna — Hermione and I are exclusive …”

“Oh, no matter then,” said Luna, visibly disappointed.

“Harry and I are not,” said Ginny. “I’ll go with you right now. You don’t mind Harry?”

“Go on,” said Harry, “I’ll see you later tonight.”

She got up, dropped Harry a little kiss and walked Luna away, arm tightly wrapped around her waist; two dozen pairs of jealous eyes followed them closely until they disappeared behind a tapestry.

“Don’t you think it’s weird she wants to do me _and_ my sister?” asked Ron to Harry and Hermione.

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “As long as it’s not at the same time…”

“What an interesting idea,” said Hermione with malice. “Ginny is a wonderful woman, I’d be curious about that as well.”

Ron shivered with disgust. “Ergh, I don’t know why you people keep fantasising about that, _stuff_ between siblings … It’s not a thing, ask Padma and Parvati what they think about that… if you’re not afraid to get cursed to death.”

“What about you and Harry, my two favourites boys, at the same time just for me?” continued Hermione, passing an arm around Ron's shoulders, the other around Harry’s.

“Hey Harry’s like a brother to me! And he’s dating my sister! So you stay away from him, you scandalous Witch!”

Harry was laughing hard.

“Ahahahah” laughed Hermione. “C’mon Ron, you shouldn’t be surprised Luna has a crush on you. Many witches do fancy you.” She let go of Harry, fluttered her eyelashes lasciously and leaned towards Ron for a kiss, “I know I do.”

Ron yielded to the kiss and immediately forgave the mockery. They locked mouths while Harry looked away impatiently.

“You realize that from my point of view, I see my brother and my sister making out. It’s disgusting.”

“Shaddup Harry,” said Ron, half speaking half eating Hermione’s face, “now you understand how I feel with you and Ginny.”

“Isn’t that Malfoy over there?” said Hermione, pointing over Harry’s shoulder. Indeed, Malfoy was chatting with Padma Patil and Pansy Parkinson in a corner of the room.

“Right, I’ll leave you two lovebirds and say hi to him. Try to stay decent. Or find a room.”

“Since when is Harry speaking terms with Malfoy?” asked Ron, so surprised he had stopped kissing Hermione.

“Oh Ron, there's still so much you don’t know,” she replied, with a smile. “Now back to kissing me, please? Your tongue is not in my mouth and I want that to stop right now.”

And so they made out, as if it was the first time.

It had happened during the Summers, a couple of weeks after Fred Weasley’s funeral, before Hermione’s trip to Australia. She had travelled in London to sort out her old house, with the help of Ron, before getting her parents back. It was hard to believe almost seven years had passed, since that strange man, sent by a so-called Ministry of Magic, had knocked on this door and explained to her parents that she had been offered a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of course, since then, she had been back to this corridor, from time to time, dragging her bag full of books and spells to the stairs, up to her room; but as years went by, she spent less and less time on this side of the world, caught deeper and deeper into the Magical World, until, after erasing the few traces of her, she had vanished entirely.

And now, there wasn’t much magical erasure to revert. A couple of pictures, a stash of cards at most.

“I can’t find your room,” yelled Ron from upstairs.

“Of course you can’t, that’s the point of the spell,” she yelled back. “I’m coming up.”

She climbed the stairs, and walked to the middle of an unusually long corridor that led to the parent’s bedroom, next to a bathroom. She muttered something while waving her wand and the horizontal motives on the wallpapers scattered away, revealing a door. She entered with Ron behind her.

It was a fairly small bedroom, with yellow wallpapers and deep blue carpeting his father had done by himself, before she was born. Next to the door, there was a small desk with an outdated calendar over it. There was also a bookcase filled with children's books she had long forgotten, and notebooks from her muggle school she had never thrown away, but neatly stacked one year after the other. In a corner of the room, the wardrobe was open, most of her muggle clothes were too big for her now; the only muggle clothes she owned were the ones she was wearing, except for a couple of lost pieces scattered between 12 Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts or the Burrow, or in the bottom of the bottomless magic purse she carried around during their journey. She sat on her small bed, contemplating this room; it was like her suspended between worlds. Soon, that room would exist once again, her parents would be back with their memory restored, but she’ll leave again for Hogwarts, and then what? Would she ever come back ? No, not in the same way. The place she had left didn’t exist anymore, except in the past.

Ron had sat next to her and passed an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“It’s really weird to be back now, after everything. It’s hard to believe any of it ever happened here. Have I ever told you that after my first year at Hogwarts, I kept imagining it could all have been a dream. I would have spent more time in this room if that were the case. Can you imagine the number of schoolworks I would have done on that desk? The books I would have read on this bed. The pajama parties with friends from the schools. I could have had a computer — it’s a muggle stuff…

“I could even have invited boys here,” she said, nudging Ron on the side with malice. “We’d been having making out sessions here, then we’d been interrupted by my mum! God I would have been so embarrassed! None of that did happen, not even a kiss. Since the minute I’ve been called to Hogwarts all my life switched tracks… I wonder though...”

Out of nowhere, Ron turned towards her and planted a light kiss on her lips.

“Here you go,” he said, slightly blushing, “that way you’ve got your kiss in your room.”

“Oh thanks Ron!” she said. She hugged him tight. “But I’ll settle for no less than an hour-long making out session!”

And she kissed him back, with so much impulse he fell on the back in the bed.

That feels good, she thought, while Ron’s generous tongue was tickling the inside of her mouth. The smoochs were long and wet, a bit sloppy, but she liked the feeling behind them. They frenched and snogged with the enthusiasm and saliva of budding teens. Ron was hovering over her a bit awkwardly, unsure where to put his hands and knees, until Hermione grabbed him by the waist and brought his body against hers. They kissed and snuggled and cuddled and fondled, even if Hermione had put Ron’s hands on her own butt and chest for it to happen.

It was a nice moment, not unlike what she had pictured in this very bed dozens of times before. Now seems a good time as any, she thought. She put her hand on Ron’s crotch.

“You’re hard,” she said simply. She straightened up, forcing Ron to sit cross legged in front of her, as the bed was too small to accommodate both of them side to side, and got rid of her shirt and jeans. Ron imitated her, then sat back to kiss her, as she unlocked her bra. She felt Ron skin against her naked chest. Between kisses, she said to him, “You can touch me, if you want.” And, inevitably, she felt two hands wrap themselves around her breasts, cupping them, squeezing them, and soon, kissing and sucking them.

Hermione let out a laugh.

“Is that not alright?” blurted out Ron, slightly alarmed.

“No it’s ok,” said Hermione. “It tickles. Here, lay on your back.”

She climbed on top of him, resting her thigh on his boxers and planted a hundred on sucker kisses all over his chest. Ron moaned. She followed her path of kisses around his navel, his stomach, down his pelvis until Ron boxer’s barred her the way. She pulled them down with both ends, freeing Ron’s springy cock, straight and hard. She took it in one hand, slightly moving and pressing it, to get accustomed to that penis she met for the first time. Ron had lifted his head to look at her. Hermione winked, put the cock in her mouth and suck it twice. It tasted like Ron. The air smelt like Ron and that was good. Hermione went back to Ron level and grabbed his wrist.

“Feel how wet I am,” she said. And she put his hand inside her own panties, right on her vulva. Hermione wasn’t wet, she was dripping.

“Put a finger inside,” said Hermione and she kissed him again. Ron did. He was amazed how easy it went in, as if Hermione’s vagina was sucking him inside. He could feel Hermione shiver as he moved his finger, feeling the warmness of her moist cunt.

He had been fingering her for less than a minute when Hermione, who looked like she could barely keep herself together, moaned. “Come now, Ron, put it in, fuck me, fuck me now.”

Ron, who still had his pants around the ankles, threw them away and rolled over Hermione. She grabbed his ass and rubbed herself against his dick.

“Hermione, listen” said Ron, “I have to tell you something first.”

“What is it Ron?” she whispered.

“Well it’s just I’ve never … You’re my first … I mean, Hermione, It’s the first time … for me,” he muttered.

Hermione slowed down. “Really? But I thought … not even with Lave-”

“No!” said Ron, “I mean we did stuff but... not … that.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his face close the hers so she could kiss him for a long moment.

“It’s alright Ron, you’re doing good, just follow my lead.” And, letting go of Ron’s head, she pushed down her panties and kicked them away. She adjusted herself under Ron, and spread her legs, in missionary, passed one arm below Ron’s armpit, on his back and with the other, she grabbed his cock and placed it at the entrance of her vaginal opening, just between the lips.

“Go on,” she said, bringing him close to him, feeling her skin pressed against his chest. He entered her as if her twat was butter. Once he was completely inside, he looked up at Hermione. She was red hot. Their eyes met and both Hermione and Ron burst out of laughter.

“Hermione!” protested Ron. His penis had slipped away why they laughed. He put it back and applied himself to thrusting inside her; he planted kisses on her mouth, on her face, on her neck, on her shoulders, inside her armpit, switching rhymes, soon out of breath. “Hermione,” he moaned.

Hermione took his hands and locked fingers with him. “You’re doing it great!” she moaned. She raised her legs and wrapped them behind Ron’s ass. “You’re doing it great!” she moaned again. She felt the pace increase, the thrusts more powerful. “Go on, it’s great, go on, go on!” she repeated, over and over.

“Hermione!”

Deep inside her, the penis stopped moving. And, thus she felt it, that exact moment, the very moment where Ron went over the threshold; and beyond that point he would cum inevitably. She held him tight, locked her legs even harder and squeezed, as hard as she could around Ron throbbing cock; he ejaculted loudly; she felt the warmness spreading inside.

For an eternity they stayed locked together, eyes closed, breathing in the musk of their sweaty bodies, skin glued together, one mouth searching the other for one kiss, just one more kiss, then another.

When Hermione went back from the bathroom, Ron was waiting for her, naked, inside the bed. Hermione slid against him, under the drapes; the bed was small, they had to stick together.

“Did you come too?” he asked.

She lay over him, stomach against stomach, her wet bush laid on his penis that had now gone limp. She was playing with his hair. She couldn’t get enough of his face.

“No, but it’s alright, I don’t come easily. But don’t worry, you’ve been great, I’ve had a good time, I promise.” And once again, she gave him a kiss.

“I love you Hermione.”

“I love you too.”

She let her head rest on his chest, and fell asleep against him, inside the bedroom of her childhood, to the rhythm of his beating heart, leaving Ron dazed and confused by this naked and defenseless witch sleeping and breathing in his arms, who, for some reason, had fallen in love with him.


End file.
